


Reenactment

by ambidentrous



Category: GWA (r/gonewildaudio)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29150685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambidentrous/pseuds/ambidentrous
Summary: [F4M] [Script Offering] Reenactment [Mutual Masturbation] [Private Language] [G-Spot Play] [Fredericks Of Hollywood] [Sensual] [GFE] [Comfortable] [Familiar Lovers] [He Shows Her A New Side Of Himself]In this narrative script, you voice a woman who is being treated to her man reenacting for her the first time he masturbated. It is unmoored, somewhat stream of consciousness, lazy and sensual. Their sexual vocabulary is quirky, fun, and intimate.
Relationships: Boyfriend/Girlfriend
Kudos: 3





	Reenactment

The sun hasn't come up yet, but the sky is getting lighter. Our room is awakening without us. There's a truck out there somewhere backing up, beeping. We were in here on a foggy morning when you showed me how you strangle that lovely beam of yours. You were shy that day even though there wasn't an inch of you I hadn't tasted the night before. I was falling asleep on your chest, my fingers tracing the marks my teeth made on your shoulder when I asked you. "Strangle it for me, baby. Your lovely beam. Like you did the first time when you were..."

  
And I didn't know how old you were when you did it first. When that big velvet curtain raised on the sparkling possibilities of your cock. I would give anything to be able to see that first time, you discovering your shivers. Fourteen you said and fumbling your flute, looking at the Fredericks of Hollywood ad in the back of your mother's Women's Day magazine. The girl with the golden curls in the baby doll--you said her eyes said she wanted you to look at her. Every other girl you knew hid her panties but golden curls didn't hide hers. You only had a few hairs down there and you were the one she invited.

  
That truck is idling outside. Neighbors moving, maybe. Maybe FedEx delivering another garden flamingo for Adam and Tammy.

  
Do you think Adam ever showed her how he yanks? Tammy would giggle. I didn't giggle. I was so. Fucking. Into. It. Do you have any idea how adorable it was watching you kneel on this bed, sitting on your heels like a kid playing with Legos. Or did you actually have an Erector set? Lincoln Logs? Whatever- I can totally see you engrossed in what was in front of you. And I'm not that golden curl girl, but fuck, I wanted you to look at me. I even dug your t-shirt out of the dirty clothes because who has a baby doll these days? You should have seen your face.

  
We had been naked together for hours, and I was pretty sure we had worn each other out, but you cured up hard when you saw me in that shirt. There's not a single gold curl on me, but I was your Fredericks of Hollywood girl, letting my panties peek at you, my nipples rising under the cotton, your scent wrapping me in pure desire. I can do that to you any time I want now. And I can do that to me. Slipping myself into your hoodies sometimes, buttoning your starched white shirt all the way up to my throat, wearing your blue silk blazer with nothing but me underneath it. My baby dolls are your shirts, and the eyes that say I'm yours. Look at me.

  
I'm kneeling over your chest right now, putting the perfect knot of your best work tie right between my breasts. You were kneeling here on our bed when you showed me how you did yourself, how it was the first time. "I used my right hand," you said, nervous, and I held my own right hand to keep it from shaking. "And I used to do this thing where I kind of pinched the skin over the head."

  
You tried to show me but it didn't work. "I wasn't this big back then," you said, and I wanted to push you over backwards and make that moment swallow your entire world. I didn't though. I knelt there in front of you in your shirt and I melted. You looked so earnest, trying to tell me, maybe, your most secret truth. "I couldn't take it if there was too much touching on the head," you said.

  
I know how much you love it when I just trail a dry thumb over your thimble. You say it sets your teeth on edge, like a mouthful of peach fuzz. And then the head goes purple and shiny and you groan. I own you then, my thumb dusting over you, slipping up droplets of dew. I know infinitely more about your cock than you did back then. I know how it tips left just a little right before you shiver and blaze. I can make you balance on the edge for more than an hour, lounging on top of you, my chin sideways in your navel, telling you what it feels like to get stretched around you, how it makes my mouth open. It's just my thumb on your leek, circling through your slip but I can see your whole body has become cock. I could nibble you anywhere and you would light up the room. 

  
So I curl my fingers around you, my right hand full of your stiff, still trembling, because this is new every time. 

  
And then you flick a finger into me and it's not fair at all. You know just where my bright patch is, and you circle it just like I'm thumbing you. My mouth opens. I hear myself moaning, "No no no no baby, this was for you" but you know that I lie when you play me. You know that when you are making my bones sing there is nothing I will not do to keep you from stopping.

  
And you fill my mouth so fast my thumb goes in with your cock. You told me once that this is to keep me from lying but fuck. I don't care why you do it. I starve for the taste of your slip on the roof of my mouth. I suck you deep and your finger finally smooths over my patch and I jump and squeal. Then you press and my blood fizzes in my veins. You pull on the tie around my neck and I see your memories: You on your knees flapping your cock for the first time, wondering if you would know when to stop. I saw you rise up on your knees before you came on that foggy morning, how you stifled your groan, almost like you thought your mother was on the other side of that door beating eggs for a bundt cake from a recipe in the magazine you had just polished one out to.

  
You told me you couldn't stop thinking about gold curls when you ate that cake. You told me I have taken her place and I believe you. I see it in your eyes, how you lick your lips. How you swallow. And it isn't hard for me now, to blaze and shiver all cinched around that delicious pressing finger of yours, my fingernails making a row of new moon marks in your skin when I can't stop myself any more. 


End file.
